More Spinned Against
by aphasia
Summary: ((Dark fantasy.)) The wind of change blows icy cold. Not all those with wings are angels. PG-13 for violence, language and brief nudity
1. Prologue

_Author's Notes_: None of these characters belong to me, and are used here without permission. No profit is being made on this story.  
Actually, I tell a lie. One character _does_ belong to me: the current protagonist, whom you are going to meet right after you finish reading this. Enjoy!  
  
It was close to midnight on the high seas, perhaps twenty miles distant from the small, strange island known as Neverland, and a storm was raging as though Thor himself was having a temper tantrum. The skies were lit periodically with blazing light, and in those moments, had anyone been watching, a strange figure would have been spotted sweeping actross the sky, slicing through the black clouds like a hot knife through butter. The storm winds were strong; the metal adornments braided into the strange being's midnight-dark hair jangled wildly as they buffeted her about, but she didn't care.  
  
Rain slashed into slitted eyes the deep, hard violet of polished amethyst, and clear membranes slid down to protect them. The utter joy exploding within her was impossible to contain, and came ripping out of her throat as a grating, deafening yell of purest triumph. Her wings –gigantic, black- feathered appendages that resembled those of a condor- swept up and back, trimmed close in to her sides to increase the velocity of her flight. Higher and higher she soared, legs held straight out behind as a kind of rudder as her wings slid effortlessly from one updraft to the next. She used the momentum of a sudden spiraling dive to carry her up again, and soon she was grazing the black underbelly of the storm.   
Then she was inside it, the raging sea lost from view in the driving rain and mist. The clouds boiled about her; keening winds veered and tore in a killing chaos, but her wings harnessed and played like some wonderful, deadly instrument. Then, as the strange winged woman swung deliriously from one wild convection cell to the next, something began to happen.   
  
A prickling sensation began atop her skull, quickly spreading down the back of her neck. I glanced back to see the inky strands of her hair lifting, beginning to stand on end like a porcupine's quills, the metal ornaments starting to shimmer with the blue-black glow of Saint Elmo's Fire. Alarmed, she swung her head up to see the clouds just above her limned with that same deadly light.   
_OH HELL- _  
  
Before she could so much as flinch, a ravening shaft of solid blue-white power slammed into her. Her entire body shuddered with the impact, and although the energy itself did no visible damage, the sheer impact SLAMMED her down and out of the storm clouds. Her wings windmilled wildly as she tried to regain her balance, but by that time she was spiraling out of control, the winds snapping her back and forth until she could no longer tell which way was up. That problem, however, was soon solved as she hit the sea with sledgehammer force. For a moment, everything went white, then black, as she was jarred into unconsciousness.   
  
She didn't feel the hands that gripped her about the waist, nor the whispered alien voices that floated through the sea like whalesong.  
  
_Author's End Notes: _I love prologues. 


	2. Arrival

_Author's Notes_: And so, moving on, we come to the first chapter, in which we learn the protagonist's name. No, she hasn't run into anyone yet, but rest assured, she will. evil laughter  
  
Waves lapped quietly at a crumpled bundle of black lying upon the very edge of the Neverland shoreline. A day gecko skittered out from the trees some twenty paces distant, its curious eyes taking in this unusual sight. Gathering its courage, the animal came closer, poking around the mass.  
  
It was a woman, from what little the gecko had heard said of women. At least, most of the traits were present. Long hair, soaked in brine and half- torn from its braid. A narrow face with soft features and almond-shaped eyes. Fine-boned hands with long, expressive fingers. She was lying on her stomach, so that some parts of her anatomy was hidden, but the gecko was convinced that whatever happened upon its beach was female.  
  
But something was confusing it. The big, feathery things spread out over the beach at its sides looked as though they'd be more at home on some giant bird of prey. And her ears were pointed like those of a faerie. It had heard of women that put colored goo on their mouths to attract males of the species, but if this woman had painted that blackness on her lips it would have washed off in the sea. No, the reptile got the uncomfortable impression that her lips were naturally dark.  
  
And those silver talons that tipped her fingers were definitely not something you'd expect to find on a lady.  
  
Judging by the pallidity of her skin, and the fact that her chest did not move, she was dead, poor thing. If a gecko could sigh, this one would have. It was such a pity. It had seen one woman on this island, in the company of the wild children, and it would have liked to get a closer look at a live one.  
  
"Gack!"  
  
The lizard leapt a full three inches into the air at the unexpected sound, and ran back into the forest in a panic, not bothering to see what had made the noise.  
  
The black-clad woman's fingers twitched, then curled into a fist around a handful of sand. Hacking, she rolled onto her side, and vomited up a mouthful of seawater, then opened her eyes a tiny slit.  
  
"How did I..." Her voice came out as a hoarse croak as she heaved herself up into a sitting position, cradled her pounding head in her arms as though afraid it would split apart.The last thing she remembered was. She shook her head violently, then winced, massaging her temples was being struck by that bolt of lightning. Served her right for being an idiot and forgetting to take her jewelry out before braving an electrical storm. A cursory inspection confirmed her suspicions: aforesaid jewelry was missing. Fine by her. At the moment, more pressing matters were at hand.   
  
"Where the hell _am_ I?" She groaned, raising her head and shading her purple cat's eyes against the sun. Then her guts abruptly twisted and she doubled over onto her side, racked by another fit of coughing.   
  
Laughter reached her ears, and jarred her waterlogged brain into making her push herself upright again, folding her legs underneath herself. Belatedly she lifted her wings, fanning them to release a small waterfall of sand. To her surprise, the top halves were nearly dry, which indicated she'd been out for some time. The wind stirred her salt-stiffened bangs and carried with it, again, the silvery laughter she'd heard before. On the outset it was an innocent enough sound, but an undercurrent of malice made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle a warning. Her head turned.   
  
A short distance offshore, eyes as dark as India ink were watching her.   
  
Three pairs of eyes, in point of fact, though when they caught her gaze, the watchers vanished with a splash and flailing of fins.   
  
"Thank you," the woman on the shore tried to shout- but, as before, her voice was little more than a croak. She knew enough about mermaids, on the other hand, to realize that their rescue was probably based more on a whim than from any real desire to help. They were capricious beings, like most fey, subject to wild mood swings at any moment- though, as creatures of water, they tended to be subtler in the execution of aforesaid moods.   
  
Having regained some semblance of strength from her rest upon the shore, the black-clad lady finally managed to heave herself to her feet. She swayed a bit, like a tree in a wind, but managed to keep herself from falling onto her face. Which would, needless to say, have been rather embarrassing.   
  
Her people were creatures of air- what the travelers to the far North called Crow Girls. They were warrior women and some men- with wings like those of great birds of prey. Not to mention the catlike qualities evident, such as her pointed ears, elongated canines, her slitted eyes, and her claws. Famous for mercenary and assassin work in their own land, they were widely regarded as little more than myth in the other four corners of the world. Now, what to do? She was marooned on this godforsaken island, with no idea where she was nor how to return to her own land. She'd gone far abroad in search of work, and doubted there was anyone this far from her homeland who would have any inkling of what she was, much less which direction her land lay.   
  
That was, of course, even assuming that there were people here.   
  
Which she doubted.   
"There's only one way to find out," she commented to the air, and turned her cool gaze to the jungle behind her. She'd have to venture within sooner or later, but leather was true hell to wear when it was wet. And she was clad almost entirely in exactly that- sleeveless shirt, leggings, boots, even gloves. Only her heavy, ankle-length coat was made of plant fiber cotton, to be exact- and that wasn't particularly pleasant wet, either. She certainly didn't relish the idea of traipsing through who-knew how many miles of jungle in the stuff.   
  
"Gods-cursed idiot," she muttered, tramping to the very edge of the trees and sitting down hard upon a log. "Brainless bird woman! Get yourself fried, bruised, drowned and lost all in one day. Brilliant, Taranis. Really brilliant."  
  
After a moment's struggle, she'd removed her uncomfortably damp clothing and laid each article upon the beach to dry. She felt no qualms about sitting about in the raw; Crow Girls viewed such things as much less taboo than humans did. Besides, there was no one about to see her.   
  
Her white skin glared against the dark backdrop of foliage. She was almost pale enough to be considered an albino, if not for the waves of black hair now unbraided- that hung loosely down her back. Where a human's cheeks would be tinged pink, hers were frosted a delicate blue-gray. She was reasonably flat-chested: another common aspect of her kith. Her wings were half-spread on either side, like a vulture after a rainstorm. She seemed absorebed by the lapping of the carribean-blue waves and the soft sand beneath her feet. Gradually, her head began to droop, lulled by the sound of surf and the warmh of the sun baking her flesh. Her eyes slid shut, and within a few minutes, she had fallen asleep. Again, she suspected herself alone on this isle. There was no cause for concern.   
  
Was there?  
  
_Author's End Notes:_ Ah, the gentle sleep of the untroubled. She's going to get a rather nasty shock when she wakes up. Stay tuned. 


	3. Awakening

_Author's Notes_: And THIS, ladies and gentlemen, is why you do NOT fall asleep nude in an unknown land. I don't own Peter Pan. I don't WANT to own Peter Pan. Taranis and the three boys she meets in this chapter, however, are mine. ALL MINE! BWAHAHAHAHA!  
  
_Taranis found herself, once again, flying through a starry blackness, across some vast, shadowed, twisted terrain, something drawing her on, leading her as surely as if there were a leash around her neck, its owner pulling steadily. Dimly, she felt herself struggle, try to think beneath a cold, relentless pressure that strove to crush her mind into oblivion. She had no idea how long she flew through those skies, strewn with alien constellations, but finally she saw something ahead- a flat, circular area in the midst of that dead, tormented land, from the center of which emanated an eye-hurtingly bright blue-white glow. Something within her yearned towards that light, and whatever was leading her on dragged her down toward that clearing-_  
  
"It's a... what do... ?"   
  
"She's aslee... quiet!"   
  
Behind the gray cloud of exhaustion that clouded Taranis's mind, she slowly became aware that the whispering, nondescript voices that drifted in and out of hearing were, in fact, not part of her dream. What was more, they were by this time loud enough -and close enough- to begin to jar her awake. She grumbled a bit under her breath, head lolling to one side. Her left eye opened the tiniest amount, the amethyst iris dull and unresponsive. She bit back a yawn, closed the eye, and opened both of her oculars a hair wider. She was still half-asleep at that point, but as she allowed her lids to slide all the way back, she realized that the blurriness of her vision was not from sleep, but from the fact that there was a face less than two inches away from her own.   
  
Her reaction, needless to say, was rather explosive.   
  
"Daaaah!" Uttering a shriek of mingled confusion, surprise, and alarm, the Crow Girl pitched violently backward off the log she had been sitting on, plowing her back and wings straight into the sand with a flailing of arms. When she had managed to stagger into an upright position and fold her feathered appendages around herself for some semblance of modesty, she became aware, with some chagrin, that she was being laughed at. Heartily. By no fewer than _three_ human males.   
  
Gathering a deep breath in preparation for a scathing tirade that encompassed precisely what she thought of people that snuck up on you when you were sleeping -in the raw, no less-, it dawned on her that far from being mature, these three couldn't be much more than children. If it wasn't embarrassing enough to be caught off her guard, being laughed at by pre-pubescent boys as a result of it clinched the deal.   
  
However, before she could retaliate, her highly-refined training took over for her. Her gaze flicked down onto the beach, doing a quick scan to discern the location of her clothes. There they were, at the children's feet. One of the boys had her coat in her hands already- apparently they'd taken the liberty of picking over her belongings, which only served to increase her ire. Between clenched teeth, she managed to grate out two words that carried all the weight of her mood within them. "_Turn... around._" When the boys hesitated, their laughing abruptly halted, she took a single menacing step forward. "_**NOW**_."   
  
Needless to say, they hastily complied.   
  
Moving quickly, the Crow Girl retrieved each article of clothing- pulling on her leather pants and boots; shaking the sand out of her bodice and carefully lacing it up over her breasts; smoothing her elbow-length gloves and buckling on her belt with its multiple cloth bags and pockets. Finally she snatched back her coat and shrugged into it without taking her eyes from the boys, straightening the lapels and ruffling her wings before satisfaction was achieved. Only then did she instruct the boys to turn back around.   
  
"Much as I would like," she began slowly, her eyes narrowing to near slits, "to pummel you mercilessly, I am really not the type to abuse children. However, you are clearly unaware of the problems you might have caused." Her eyes focused upon the centermost boy, who looked to be about twelve, with russet-red hair and impish blue eyes. "You went through my stuff," she told him, her tone almost conversational- until she picked him up by the front of his animal-skin shirt so that they were eye to eye. "_Never do it again_." Her fingers opened reflexively, and he hit the beach rear-first (though his dignity was really the only thing she'd injured).   
  
"Now," she began again, dusting her hands off on her pants, "let's start over. Who are you, and where" she gestured at the surrounding terrain "am I?"   
  
The boys stared at her silently for a moment. One could almost feel them think: "What do you MEAN 'where am I'?" Eventually, one of the smaller boys -dark-haired and dark eyed; like the Crow Girl before him, he had a distinctly Asian cast to his features- executed a low, sweeping bow. "Welcome to Neverland, bird lady."  
  
"Welcome, bird lady," his compatriots echoed, rather shyly.   
  
"_Bird_ lady?" Taranis repeated, her tone bordering on incredulity. _Well, at least I've_ heard _of the place,_ she added to herself as an afterthought, shifting the information to the back of her mind for future reference. "Crow Girl... Bird lady... All right, fair enough. Your names?"  
  
"Yorikiro," the Asian lad replied, straightening up. "My friends just call me Yori."   
"Aiden," the redhead proclaimed, his grin widening. The eldest of the three assembled, he appeared to be something of a leader amongst them. "This is my brother Tom." He slung his arm around the shoulders of the boy to his right in comradely fashion. "All proud members of the Lost Boys." _Some kind of group or tribe of some sort,_ she surmised.   
  
Having experienced the courtesy these boys had bestowed upon her, the Crow Girl responded in turn, with a bow of her own- only hers was accented with half-spread wings, which duly impressed her small audience. "You may call me Taranis," she introduced herself. "Castaway. Blank Shield at your service."   
  
She didn't really expect them to know what the term 'Blank Shield' meant, for this was far from her home, where her people had probably never even been glimpsed. The phrase was their more common word for 'mercenary'- a wanderer who sold their warrior skills to the highest bidder, specializing in combat and covert operations. Technically Taranis was what they'd call a _Black_ Shield, which meant that she doubled as assassin. But they didn't need to know that.  
  
"Peter will want to meet you," Aiden proclaimed eagerly, taking her by the hand. By the sound of his voice, this 'Peter' must have been the Lost Boys' leader, or something of the sort. "We don't see many ladies around here."   
  
"We don't see _any_ ladies around here," Tom groused as they led her into the jungle.   
"Except for the Wendy," Yori added.   
"'Wendy?'" Taranis arched an eyebrow.   
  
"She's our mother," all three boys chimed in.   
  
"I... see." Taranis sighed.   
THIS was going to be interesting.  
  
_Author's End Notes_: Next chapter, of course, will involve Taranis's becoming more acquainted with the Lost Boys and with Neverland in particular. Shortly she'll be running into the pirates- who, of course, have MUCH more use for a mercenary than children... Ooooo. Foreshadowing... 


End file.
